


She is the Space Between the Stars

by wolfgirl232



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Horrorterrors - Freeform, I didn't like this pairing either, Just smut, Smut, brose prose, but then I found a thing, grimdark Rose - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgirl232/pseuds/wolfgirl232
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose is Muse to the Horrorterrors, and the eldest Strider is both her plaything and her solace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She is the Space Between the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Slight squick factor I guess? There's nothing graphic, it's just a little...squicky.

Something in your dream slides warm and velvety across your chest, tendrils coiling around your neck and upward, your hair tangled with the darkness as it begins to whisper in your ear, dark poetry roiling over your skin and you can’t breathe because the air is muffled with it, the ruins assaulting you from every side and then one eye opens from somewhere and there is a violet light that glows darkly—

You jolt awake. She is there on your chest, knees on either side of your ribcage, a faint dark mist hovering around her shoulders. Nothing separates your skin from hers, moisture gathering on your sternum, the liquid tinged lavender. 

“Rose.”

She leans down to whisper to you, night-black lips sliding against the tender skin just below your ear. “Phynra’slavag braerth braylyp svulk de’mn.” You have studied well—you can recognize the word for which you still have no translation: de’mn, a sort of fond epithet she has for you. Once she told you it meant ‘my love’. Another time she said it meant ‘out of time’. Perhaps it’s both.

You begin to become more aware of yourself (it is hard not to be aware of her, the burning black of her pupils, the slenderness of her waist, how her collarbone lets a pale shadow hover in its hollow), still hovering on the bleary edge of sleep. She uses the tip of her nose to push your jaw upward, bearing your throat, and she licks up your neck, the path she takes burning against your skin darkly. You are suddenly almost shamefully aware of how hard you are, your cock straining at the bedsheets behind her.

You know she knows this. You can feel her in your mind, the liquor of her seeping down through the cracks in your consciousness, filling in all the empty space. You sigh, open-mouthed, a sound of desperation.

Her eyes lock onto yours and she sits back again, your hands obediently moving to her. Her skin is intangibly soft, as if she isn’t quite solid. You grasp her ribs, thumbs skimming over her nipples as her back arches in response, lips parting slightly.

Straining forward, you place your mouth around her breast and tongue at her flesh. She smiles down at you, her fingers weaving into your hair, twisting and pulling in intricate patterns. She moves you without needing to touch you, the tendrils in your mind compelling you gently into position, until she is sitting in your lap. When your lips move to her other breast she guides your fingers to her, and you shudder with want as they slide inside of her easily, the foreign wetness soaking your hand.

You curl your fingers and pet her interior walls, stroking her slowly to a fever pitch. You can always tell when she becomes heated because the air around you vanishes, the oxygen thinning until you are trying to suck from a vacuum, and not until you are gasping does she remember to put it back. 

Slowly, she begins to encompass you. There are needles of darkness pricking at the skin of your back, a swath of black moving up and around you until you and she are pushed closer together by the pressure of the force building around you, like the night is trying to smother you in its embrace. But when you stretch one hand out—the one not milking the starry liquid from her—there is nothing there. The faint whispering that you now realize has always been there begins to grow less rhythmic, the chaos of the syllables jostling together in your ears, and then something is pushing against your dick and you moan into her neck, the smell of her burning the back of your throat.

“Rose,” you gasp, and you are so close.

“De’mn hyangav shaet’kagr.” She whispers it into your hair.

“De’mn…” you ponder aloud, sliding the cadence along your tongue.

Her eyes snap to yours, and they are not a color you have a name for. “One who begs.”

And how right she is. Batting your hand out of the way, she shifts forward to slide down your shaft, just as she explodes, the wetness soaking you and your bedsheets. 

You and she don’t need to move when she fucks you. Whatever is alive beneath her skin you can feel from inside of her, as it pulses strongly, insistently. Tight is not apt enough a word for the force she is exerting on you, and it’s almost painful but you’re drunk on it. She’s got her legs behind your back and she’s trembling, the muscles of her abdomen clenching and unclenching in spasms. 

She throws her head back, rolling it back and around, her mouth open. Her hands are vice-grips on your shoulders.

You snap your hips once upward into her, just to get closer—if you could only just get inside her deeper, merge her body with yours, crawl up into her completely where you would be safe and warm in the abyss of her protection. You want to live between her lungs, be able to hear the rush of breath in and out of her body, the melody of it rocking you to sleep.

The jolt of your motion has her shaking harder, something deep inside of her swirling around the flare of your head and you make an unholy sound as she leans backwards, pale body stretched out in the darkness. “Fuck,” she moans, long and loud, the word sounding foreign on her lips.

You can’t help the small whine that escapes you, and she is there, gathering your head to her breast as you cling to her like a last hope.

You cry out for her when the darkness inside her pulses a last time, writhing against you, and then everything goes black, your mouth is full of it and you can’t keep track of your body—you try but it is jerked away from you, and the only thing you can distinguish in the deep is the searing pleasure that is tearing through you, and you can liken it to nothing but pain for its intensity. 

From there, you slip completely into the nothingness, letting it envelop you, as the last of your strength drains away.

 

When you come to, your head is in her lap and her fingers are caressing you, frail wisps leaking out from the swirls of her fingerprints to trail along your cheek tenderly. The blankets from the bed are gathered around the both of you, encircling her bare shoulders and burying you beneath them, a cocoon of safety swathed over your body. 

Some nights she won’t stay, slipping out your bedroom window to leave you alone with a floundering feeling that you hate, like you can’t figure out if you want sleep, and your eyelids hurt and there is an eerie blankness to your thoughts that unsettles you. Tonight however is not one of those nights, and she lays down on her back to let your cheek settle on her breastbone. Just beneath your ear, emanating from deep within her, a soothing lilt is beating softly against your eardrum, like a song without notes. 

She sings you to sleep in her ancient tongues, but you are afraid to slip under, knowing she will be gone come morning. She can feel you struggling, and lays her black lips against your forehead. A gray fog begins to pervade your mind, drowning you, and you are deprived of thought like a shipwreck victim deprived of air.

From where you are it is only a few degrees down below the edge of sleep. But even when you have succumbed she is still with you, the inflection of her Eldritch reaching you in the darkness. You settle, slipping into the sweet submission that is dreaming among the Horrorterrors when their muse is wrapped around you, whispering their language in your ear.


End file.
